


Abortive Measures

by delgaserasca



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-26
Updated: 2007-10-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 21:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7285024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgaserasca/pseuds/delgaserasca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megan and Ian, and everything in-between</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abortive Measures

  
**one.**  
but I'm not the girl you once put your faith in  
just someone who looks like me

 

 

You're a cold-hearted sonofabitch, you know that?

She says it without inflection, without any sense that she approves or disapproves but Ian knows it for what it is: a tacit reprimand. She's sharper now, more jaded; less forgiving. Good, he thinks, little girl’s all grown up. Maybe she gets it now; maybe they can end it.

She won't look him in the eye.

 

 

He comes off the circuit one summer later and she's the first person he sees at the scene. It took him some time, more than he'd admit to, but he'd washed her out of his system since the last time he'd been in L.A. Then there she is, tailored blouse and shoulder holster, looking down at the crash site. Colby, too, and Ian can see the traitor-turned-hero oscillating between safe-zones, solid around Megan, but less so around David who's climbing up from the wreckage.

Colby nods a greeting; Ian nods back. She looks at him, smiles; fakes her way through the small talk. Girl's a hell of a liar when she wants to be. David gets back on solid ground and shakes his hand.

It's going to be a long summer.

 

 

Like you expected any different.

She sniffs humourlessly, arms folded across her chest. She worries the toe of her boot in the dust underfoot. I guess not.

Don and Colby escort Lewis Maguire away in cuffs. David is with the guy from the coroner's office, watching as Lewis' brother, Jackson - Ian's latest hit - is zipped into a body bag. He doesn't want to go out that way, Ian decides. He's going to die an old man, in his own damn bed.

Megan turns on her heel and walks away.

 

 

Eppes is in better shape than Ian anticipated, but then he sees Liz Warner and the situation makes more sense. Charlie is pleased to see him, like always, and Don seems to be over the deal with Hoyle. The case comes together pretty quickly, and though there are signs of wear, the team seems to be well-oiled. The Maguire brothers are looting banks, taking hostages, and generally wreaking havoc wherever they go. Four are dead already. Ian can't see a pattern to their choices, but Charlie seems to see something, and time is ticking away, but they're whittling down leads. They're making headway.

It's late, and the blue walls seem to be coming in on him. Charlie and Don have gone home - Charlie's still working on whatever the hell it is that he's working on that's giving them good data - and David apparently has a date. Colby, Liz and the AUSA are poring over manila folders in the war room where the fluorescent light is bouncing off the polished tables, adding strain to eyes that are already struggling to stay focused.  
  
He finds her in the bullpen, working on constructing a better profile. Her glasses are sliding down to the end of her nose, and she pushes them back up, irritated. She throws down her pen, sighs, pushes her hair back; picks up the pen again. Her wrists look too slim. He remembers the way they felt in his grip, smooth but deceptively small. It's the memory that makes him repeat his first mistake.  
  
You look like you could use a drink.  
  
She looks him up and down. The pot and the kettle, she jokes, but it's not funny, and they're not going to make it to the bar.

 

 

  
**(interlude.)**  
I’m pouring quicksand,  
and sinking is all I have planned

 

 

He spins a coin on the counter, listens to it scratch circles on the wood. Heads, I win; tails, you lose, and her laughter still sounds bitter, but it's better than nothing.  
  
She still bites, but he's ready for it, and they make it to the bed this time around. Her sheets are thick with the smell of incense; her body smells familiar and enticing. It’s still a battle of wills, of bodies forcing other bodies, but it hits every nerve just right. They’re scratching a year-old itch. There’s no relief quite like it.

 

 

  
**two.**  
so better take the keys and drive forever;  
staying won’t put these futures back together

 

 

She throws him out of her apartment as dawn breaks the horizon, cutting through her blinds and onto the bed. The morning light is warm and fresh, not bronze and dank like the night before. He resents the kick he receives to his backside as Megan pushes him out of the bed with her feet.

Guess you don't want me to call, then.

Get out. Just— she's pulling on a sweater, grabbing her clothes from where he threw them the night before. In the half-light she looks the way she did the first time he touched her, bruised and desperate. What are you doing? Get out of here.

She sounds tired, and Ian's had enough anyway, so he pulls on his trousers, grabs his sweater, and leaves. She's got about an hour to clean up and tie on a new mask before she has to go to work. Ian gets in his car and heads for a motel.

 

 

Hey, look, about this morning— she's offering him a cup of coffee; he's leaning against David's desk, reading another case file.

What about it?

I know I'm not being straight with you, Ian.

There's that, he thinks, but he takes the peace offering for what it is. Something about this one; always brings him back.

 

 

She's arguing with him again, but it's not personal, so he doesn't know why he's taking it that way. Hands, and motion, and all her words, all that logic that doesn't add up to anything he can actually use. None of that's worth a damn if the guy's just going to get up and shoot someone else.  
  
We can use the link between them, appeal to his sense of responsibility. He loves his brother, he's not going to just stand around and let us take him away.

Set up the shot, is all he says, and she throws her hands into the air. Don's been looking between the two of them, but Ian doesn't think he sees anything. The guy's more focused on Megan anyway, like maybe Ian's missed something. The decision's made pretty quickly; they'll try her way first, but Ian's setting up his scope anyway, because Don isn't an idiot - they need the cover.  
  
As they head to the car lot, Megan is bristling. Hey, David, got room for one more? David looks surprised but shrugs, sure, and Megan heads his way. Ian gets landed with Liz Warner. Good. They've got work to do. No time for distractions.

 

 

Winning a battle, losing a war; Ian's played this game before. Megan's into the negotiations, but Maguire's getting skittish, and the damn girl just hasn’t learned, not from Hoyle, not from whatever she was into between then and now. You can’t barter with these people. They’re not wired the same as the rest of the populus. You can’t get too involved. You have to be able to maintain a distance; you have to be able to extricate yourself.

He can hear chatter in his ear piece; Don’s getting nervous, too, and Megan’s getting— not tired, not desperate, but she’s scrabbling. Anyone can see she’s not making the connection. It’s not her fault; that’s just the way it goes sometimes. And Ian’s had enough. Eppes, are we doing this?

 _Hang on, just give her a—_ Megan takes one step too many forward; Maguire loses it.

_Take it._

 

 

He shoots: Jackson Maguire crumbles. Megan’s eyes close, and Ian doesn’t have to look to know that her hands are curled into fists. Her bruises are all her own. She’s welcome to them.

Heads, I win; tails, you lose. Guess that’s that, then.

 

 

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

> Section titles from Aimee Mann's Humpty Dumpty. Written for numb3rswriteoff.


End file.
